by Nan Rossiter
Henry reached for Callie’s hand, and she nodded as they walked across the room. Henry ran his other hand lightly over the soft blanket, and Callie lifted him onto the bed. “Guess what?” Ben looked up questioningly, and Callie grinned. “When I was thanking everyone who helped look for him, I knelt down in front of Springer and told him he was a hero ... and Henry repeated it!”
Ben looked at Henry. “You did?” Henry nodded slightly, and Ben beamed. “That’s wonderful! Just think, someday when he’s giving you back talk, you’ll have to remember how glad you are now!”
Callie laughed and then nodded at the empty bed. “Where’s your neighbor?”
Ben smiled. “He went home.”
Just then Dr. Franklin knocked on the door. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Ben said.
“I’m not here officially,” he said, pulling his stethoscope from around his neck and putting it in his ears, “but I thought I should check your blood pressure after so much excitement.” Ben held out his arm, and Dr. Franklin slid on the cuff. He listened, watching the gauge intently, and then slipped the cuff off again. “It’s a little high,” he said, trying not to alarm them. “I’m just going to have the nurse give you something to get it down, and I’ll check it again in a little while.” He pulled the stethoscope back around his neck. “Sometimes after surgery it takes a bit of adjusting to get the right dose.” He looked at Callie, his kind eyes seeming to read her thoughts. “Don’t worry.” She nodded, but this time his words didn’t fill her with the same sense of peace.
“Maybe we should go and let you rest,” she said quietly.
“That might be a good idea,” the doctor said with a nod. “Besides, I also came to see if you’d like a ride home.”
“You don’t need to do that,” she said. “I can call someone.”
“There’s no need. I go right by.”
“All right,” Callie said. “That would be a help.” She looked at Henry. “Hen-Ben, can you give Papa a hug?” Henry leaned over and gave his grandfather a gentle hug. Callie smiled and lifted him down and then hugged her dad too. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, honey.”
48
“I want you to call me if you need anything,” Dr. Franklin said, pulling a piece of paper from his shirt pocket with his home phone number on it. “Day or night,” he added with a gentle smile.
Callie nodded. “I can’t thank you enough.”
He looked over at her. “Callie, you should know that your dad’s heart is still very fragile and, although he probably feels better than he has in a long time, he needs to be very cautious and not rush things.”
Callie nodded again. “Or do dumb things like getting out of bed without help.”
“Exactly,” the doctor said.
“He’s stubborn, though.”
Dr. Franklin smiled. “I know. That’s another reason he reminds me of my own dad.”
They pulled onto her road, and Callie saw her car already parked in the driveway. Beside it was Linden’s truck. Dr. Franklin turned his old Subaru around in the driveway. “Looks like you have company.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Thank you again,” she said, lifting Henry out and waving as he pulled away. She watched him hesitate at the corner and was puzzled when he turned to head back the way they had come.
Linden was sitting on the steps, but when Callie came up the driveway with Henry asleep on her shoulder, he stood to meet her. “Callie, I’m so sorry all this happened.”
Callie shook her head. “It’s not your fault, Linden. It just happened. Out of the goodness of your heart, you were trying to help me.”
“I should’ve been watching him.”
Callie shook her head again. “You can’t think that way. What if I blamed myself? I knew you had your hands full but I left him with you anyway. Maybe it’s my fault.”
Linden closed his eyes and shook his head in dismay. “It’s definitely not your fault.”
Callie stood in front of him and smiled. “He was found—that’s all that matters.” She paused. “But the whole time he was missing, I kept praying that if he was found ... if I was given another chance to be his mom ... I would do a better job. I would be more patient, I would learn all I could about autism, and, like you said, I would try to make a difference in other people’s lives, maybe little people’s lives.”
She felt tears stinging her eyes. “The only thing is ... I don’t know if I can do all that and work on rebuilding our relationship too. I’m sorry, Linden. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I need time to figure this out. I need to be there for Henry—and my dad—before I can be there for anyone else.” Linden pushed his hands into his pockets, and Callie couldn’t help but see the sadness in his eyes. “You’ve done so much for me this last week. I can’t believe it’s only been one week. It feels like an eternity. But I hope you know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
49
When Linden pulled into the yard, the dogs moseyed over to him with their tails wagging. After all of the excitement that morning, they’d been a bit deflated when, one by one, all of their new friends left.
Cindy had been a huge help, cleaning up coffee cups and napkins and following Linden over to drop off Callie’s car. On the ride back she told Linden how terrible she felt and asked him if he would like her to find a new home for the cows. He had looked at the little sun dappled calf standing beside his mother and shook his head.
Springer leaned against Linden’s legs and he knelt down to stroke his soft ears and look into his sweet brown eyes. “You are a hero, you know that?” he whispered, and Springer licked his face and wagged his tail in agreement.
“Want to go for a walk?” he asked. The dogs circled around in happy anticipation and then fell into step beside him as he headed up the hill. The old fireman had described to Linden the area where he’d found Henry, and Linden wanted to see it for himself. He had described it as a grassy clearing, and said Linden would know it if he saw several small piles of stones.
“C’mon, Springer, show me!” he said, and Springer bounded ahead with his nose to the ground. Linden didn’t really think the happy-go-lucky Lab knew what he was asking of him, but maybe Henry’s familiar scent would lead Springer back to where they’d been found.
A half an hour later, they came to a clearing, and Linden saw something lying in the grass. He walked over and realized it was the light green pilot headset. He picked it up and smiled. At least Callie won’t have to fight this battle anymore. He followed Springer along the perimeter of the clearing and soon found one of the piles of stones the fireman had talked about. It looked like a miniature cairn. Next to it was an empty plastic bag. Springer nosed around the bag, his tail wagging, and then swallowed something that Linden guessed was a piece of cookie. Linden saw another pile of stones a short distance away. He walked over to it and knelt down to fix some of the stones, and then he shook his head in wonder. Had Henry been trying to mark his way?
As the sun set, Linden and the dogs returned to the yard. Linden pulled a frosty beer from the river, leaned back in one of the Adirondack chairs, watched the dogs splashing in the clear water, and then gazed at the pile of stones he’d been working on before Callie had slipped back into his life. He took a long drink and whispered, “Guess it’s just you and me, Ebenezer.”
50
Callie carried Henry inside, laid him on the couch, and turned the fan on low. Then she opened the windows, poured a glass of cold lemonade, and sat at the table. She looked at the lilies; they were already drooping, and she wondered if Linden knew how daylilies had come by their name. She took a sip of her drink and its cool sweetness reminded her of what her dad had asked her to do. She got up to look in the cabinet where all the odds and ends were stored, and there, on the middle shelf, she saw the familiar red top of the hummingbird feeder. She pulled it out and turned to consult the faded recipe taped to the inside of the door. It was written in her
mom’s neat handwriting:
Hummer Nectar
1 cup water to ¼ cup sugar
Bring to a boil. Cool.
Change every three days or as needed.
Callie took out a small saucepan and a measuring cup, measured the sugar and water, and put both in the pot to boil. She rinsed off the feeder, put it in the dish drain to dry, and then stirred the mixture. After it came to a boil, she moved it off the burner and peeked in on Henry. He was still asleep. She latched the kitchen door, sank into her dad’s favorite chair, and immediately fell asleep too.
The afternoon slipped quietly by, the sun streaked its last fiery rays across the horizon, and the world grew dark and still. An owl called, but Callie and Henry didn’t hear it. Exhausted, they were both sound asleep. Finally, Callie began to dream that someone was knocking on the door ... but, for some reason, she couldn’t seem to move. The knocking continued and, with a start, she suddenly realized that someone really was knocking on the door. She opened her eyes and blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness and wondering how she had slept so long. She got up, glanced at the clock on the kitchen stove, and shook her head in disbelief. It was after ten. Who would be here at this hour? She heard a familiar voice calling her name, and when she switched on the porch light, she saw Dr. Franklin standing on the steps, his face drawn and tired, his blue eyes glistening with tears.
PART III
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
—Robert Frost
51
Dr. Franklin stayed with Callie until he was sure she would be okay. It was almost morning when he finally stood in the doorway and gave her one last hug. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do and what arrangements you make. I know it’s a difficult time, but I bet if you look through your dad’s papers you’ll find that he prepared for this. He would not have wanted you to have to figure it out all on your own.”
After he left, Callie went through the motions of caring for Henry, but then she just went back to staring out the window. Finally, late in the day, she decided to make coffee. She had just clicked the button to brew and put the coffee can back in its spot when she heard a knock at the door. She peered through the screen and saw a tall man whose pants were an inch too short standing on the steps with two dishes in his hands. His white hair shone in the late-afternoon sun. “Hello, Callie,” he said solemnly.
Although she had not seen him since her mom’s funeral, Callie recognized the kind face immediately. She unlatched the door and held it open. “Hi, Reverend Taylor.”
The old minister stepped inside. “I’m just coming by to offer my condolences and to check on you. I’m so sorry about your dad.” He looked down at the plates in his hands. “Oh, and Sue sent these over, two of my favorites: fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, summer squash and”—he smiled as he held up the second dish—“blueberry pie.”
“Thank you,” she said, putting them on the counter.
“Well, my dear,” he said with a gentle smile, “food is one of the things we Congregationalists do best.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Callie asked, trying to remember what her parents would do in this situation. “It’s almost done brewing.”
“No, no thank you,” he said in a slow, measured voice. “I try to stay away from caffeine late in the day.”
“Would you like some lemonade, then?” she asked, her own voice trailing off.
He shook his head, and Callie nodded and found herself fighting back tears again. “Your dad was a wonderful man and we all loved him very much. I just wanted you to know that I’m available to help with the arrangements or anything at all. I’ve been through this a few times.”
Callie nodded and suddenly realized that these were things she’d have to take care of soon. “Can I come by your office tomorrow?”
“Well, church is in the morning,” he said, trying to remember his schedule, “but I’m available after that. Say, after lunch?” Callie nodded, and he pushed open the door, but then looked back and smiled. “Make sure you eat. When word gets out, you won’t know what to do with all the food.”
Callie promised she would and then watched his car back out of the driveway. She looked at the clock and realized it was already six-thirty. Almost twenty-four hours had passed since her world had been turned upside down.
She looked at the plates and then noticed the pot of sugar water still on the stove. She poured it into the feeder, slipped the top on, and went out on the porch to hang it on its hook. Then she went back inside and looked in on Henry, who had fallen asleep on the couch again. She shook him gently. “Hen-Ben, wake up,” she said. “It’s time for supper.” Henry rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Let’s go use the bathroom,” she said. Callie was surprised when he got right up and headed down the hall. When he was done, she lifted him onto the counter and washed his face and hands with a warm sudsy washcloth. When she was finished, he looked up at her, his tan face framed with damp blond hair, and smiled. Callie felt as if she had just been given the best gift in the world. She smiled back and hugged him. “Let’s go have some supper.”
Although she wasn’t very hungry, the comfort food Sue had sent over was still warm ... and delicious; Callie ended up eating more than she had in days. And Henry, for his part, had seconds of everything and still had room for blueberry pie.
While Callie did the dishes, Henry drew in the pad Callie had found for him. But as soon as she was finished, he wandered into the kitchen carrying Goodnight Moon. “Are you ready for a story?” she asked, drying her hands on the dish towel. Henry nodded and followed her outside to sit on the porch. Callie lifted him onto her lap, opened the book, and began to read. Henry was just getting ready to point to the mouse on the next page when an odd sound buzzed above their heads. Henry looked up with a frown and Callie whispered, “That’s a hummingbird.” The little hummer landed on the feeder, took a long drink, and then stopped to hover right in front of them as if trying to decide if they were friends or foes. Then, as quickly as it had come, it zipped away to see what the bee balm had to offer. Callie thought of her dad, smiled, and pulled Henry closer.
When they finished the book, Henry closed it and studied the picture on the cover of a room, a window, and the moon. Then he leaned back contentedly and listened to the buzzing and chirring sounds of the summer evening. Suddenly, far away, an owl called and Henry sat up and pointed in the direction of the sound.
Callie whispered, “What does an owl say?”
And Henry answered softly, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you aaaalll?”
52
The morning of the funeral dawned sunny and cool, and even though Callie arrived early, the sanctuary was already overflowing onto the lawn, and men were hurrying to set up chairs and speakers outside. It seemed that the whole town was turning out to pay their last respects to Benjamin Wyeth. Callie looked around and saw former and current students, former and current teachers, old veterans, young veterans, and dear friends dating back to Ben’s college days. The obvious depth of love that was felt for her father overwhelmed her. She wished Henry could be there too, but she knew she’d made the right decision in leaving him with Maddie.
Callie and Henry had been sitting on the porch reading Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel after supper on Sunday when Maddie Coleman had pulled into the driveway. Henry had heard the car and squirmed off Callie’s lap to see who was there, and then he’d run back to hide behind Callie’s legs. “Hi, Mrs. Coleman,” Callie had said with a smile while Henry peered around her.
“Oh, Callie, please call me Maddie. ‘Mrs. Coleman’ sounds so old!” She had given Callie a warm hug and then held her at arm’s length. “I am so, so sorry about your dear dad. He was a wonderful man and a top-notch teacher, and we all loved him.”
Callie had smiled, nodding appreciatively, and Maddie had turned to Henry. “And this handsome fello
w must be Henry,” she’d said softly, kneeling down in front of him. “I’ve heard so much about you!” Henry had shyly studied her friendly face and salt-and-pepper hair. “Can you give me five?” she asked, putting out her hand. To Callie’s surprise, Henry had gently slapped her hand.
Maddie had stood, smiling. “He’s beautiful, Callie. Your dad talked about him all the time. He thought the world of him.” She paused. “I’m sorry to stop by unannounced, but Reverend Taylor mentioned in church today that you might be looking for someone to stay with Henry on Tuesday, and I wanted you to know that I would be honored to spend the day with Ben Wyeth’s grandson.”
Callie had looked surprised. “Don’t you want to go to the funeral?”
Maddie had shaken her head and answered, “No, Callie. Staying with Henry would mean much more to me. I would feel as if I’m giving my own personal tribute to a man I loved very much.”
Callie had nodded thoughtfully, not knowing whether to accept Maddie’s gracious offer. She was certainly worried about Henry’s reaction to a church full of people and music, but she’d already resigned herself to the idea that she didn’t have any choice but to bring him.
“Henry isn’t easy to look after. Although he’s been using words a little bit,” she said, “it’s often hard to know what’s bothering him.”
Maddie had nodded and responded gently, “Callie, I know all about autism. That’s part of the reason I came by—to meet Henry. But, more importantly, so he could meet me.”
Maddie hadn’t needed to say any more. Callie had immediately felt at peace with the decision, and later she couldn’t help but wonder if her dad had played a part in bringing Maddie serendipitously into their lives.
